Chapter 4: All I Want for New Years

For the next few weeks, Carolyn felt like she was living a double life. She played the role of dutiful daughter and supportive mother, marching along to the tune of family and cultural traditions that made up the Christmas season. Privately, she had her hazy world of "what if". It consisted of the story she was writing, the emails with Claymore Gregg, and her fantasies of a quiet holiday season in Schooner Bay.

She took photos at Candy's ear-piercing recorder concert at school, where parents and families endured the butchering of several favorite holiday tunes. She helped the children shop for and wrap gifts for family members and teachers. She baked cookies and set out the creche on the old console stereo tucked into the corner of her parent's living room. She spent an afternoon in the church hall attaching little foil collars to white candles for the carol singing service.

But no matter what she did, her heart hurt. It felt as if it was being pummeled with every forced smile, every card stamped, and every child shushed. She had no life of her own; she simply played a supporting role in the lives of others. What if all her purpose and reason for being had died with Robert?

Two days before Christmas, she and the children were caught in traffic outside of Scranton on their way to visit Robert's mother. Luckily they had both fallen asleep, and she could give all her attention to driving through the dark, on the slick road in bumper-to-bumper traffic. She kept reminding herself that this wasn't that bad. At least she wasn't one of the people involved in the accident that had traffic backed up for miles. No one in her family was going to be spending Christmas in the hospital or at a funeral home.

"I've already paid those dues," she whispered with a sigh.

She hoped her Mother-in-law would be in good spirits, or at least grateful that they had made the trip. She had been difficult to read on the phone, and it was a toss-up whether she'd be glad to see the kids, or if she'd waste their time together complaining that they didn't have enough time together.

Candy had brought her recorder to play songs for her grandmother and Jonathan had made another cotton-covered card for her. Carolyn had brought a festive flower arrangement and a box of candies. Her mother-in-law had said that she didn't want anything except to see the children, but Carolyn didn't like to show up without some kind of gift. Now she feared the gifts would seem too formal and formulaic. Maybe she should have gotten her something useful and cozy, like slippers or a robe.

There was nothing to be done about it. She simply wasn't close to the woman, and she was doing the best she could. They would all muddle through the visit one way or another. It was a relief when the car finally moved past the mess of crumpled cars and traffic widened into three lanes again.

"Kids, we're almost there," she called, hoping to rouse them. "Candy? Jonathan? We'll be at grandma's in a few minutes." She sang out a bit louder.

Jonathan stirred. "Are we there yet?" He yawned.

"Just about. Can you wake your sister up?"

He pushed himself forward in his car seat and peered out the window. It was dark now. It had been light when he'd fallen asleep. He leaned over and tried to poke his sister. "Candy, come on."

Candy gave a sniff but ignored him.

"Candy!" Carolyn tried again.

"I told you I didn't do it!" Candy growled, lost in a dream.

Jonathan picked up a coloring book that was lying on the seat and swatted his sister with it. "Time to wake up. We're at grandma's."

Candy opened her eyes, looking confused. "Is it Christmas?" she asked.

"You didn't sleep that long," Carolyn said with a grin. "We're going to be at Grandma Marjorie's in a few minutes."

Candy sat up, looked out the window, and sighed. Her mother didn't sense any hint of excitement there, no gleeful anticipation about seeing her grandmother.

Carolyn didn't feel any either. This didn't feel like visiting family. It didn't feel joyful. It felt like duty, like one more thing to be crossed off the endless "to do" list that was referred to as "The Holidays."

She felt a hint of dread when they pulled into the driveway, but she buried it under the bustle of getting the kids out of the car and gathering the packages to take into the house. She drew in a breath of frosty air and straightened her shoulders. Out of respect for Robert and the woman who raised him, and for the childrens' sake, she was going to make this work.

"Merry Christmas!" they all sang out when Robert's mother opened the door.

"Well, what a sight for sore eyes!" The elder Mrs. Muir said, wearing a wide smile as she ushered them inside. Carolyn gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and the woman hugged her back in what felt like a sincere embrace. Carolyn was immediately glad that they had made the effort.

The house smelled the way she remembered; a hint of cigarette smoke, years of cooking, musty carpet, and a lot of holiday-scented candles. A little tree sat up on a table in the living room and there were store-bought cookies on a tray.

The house was too warm. Carolyn felt prickly even after removing her coat. The children were told they could each have one cookie before dinner, and they ate them while telling their grandmother about school, what they wanted from Santa, and the flurry of activities they'd been engaged in the past several weeks.

"My, my! How do you keep up with it all?" Marjorie asked Carolyn, a hint of admiration in her tone.

"My parents help so much, and honestly, after the holidays, I'm looking forward to things getting back to normal."

Her mother-in-law studied her face. "What's normal? Now I mean. Now that Robert…"

Carolyn didn't know. She hadn't meant to imply that they had already adjusted to life without him, just that after New Year's Day, things would be less hectic.

She shook her head and gave a defeated shrug. "Candy has a song she'd like to play for you," was all she could think of to say.

After Candy played for them and Jonathan explained how he had mastered the pitch pipe, they went to the kitchen to eat a dinner of meatloaf and baked potatoes. It had been Robert's favorite of his mother's meals.

Jonathan picked through his meatloaf suspiciously. He didn't trust meatloaf because it had come to his attention that grown-ups used it to hide things like vegetables, oatmeal, olives, and other things that were not meat.

"Jonathan, eat your food. Don't play with it," Carolyn said automatically.

Candy was adding a fifth spoonful of sour cream to her baked potato. She had a habit of being overly generous with the condiments and then finding that she didn't like the end result.

Carolyn just wanted them to use good table manners and not hurt their grandmother's feelings.

"The meatloaf is delicious," Carolyn said.

"It's nice to have it for a change. I don't make it for myself," the older woman explained.

"I'd love to have your recipe," Carolyn went on.

"Why, I'm sure I've given it to you. It was Robert's favorite."

Carolyn's face reddened. "I'm sure you're right. It's likely just packed up with the cookbooks." Or more likely Martha had it since she would have been the one doing the cooking.

Dessert was pre-packaged ice cream cups; such a contrast to her mother's house. Here, things were simple and practical. Serviceable.

The children were thrilled with the ice cream and the flat wooden spoons that came with it.

"I'm going to save mine and make a puppet!" Candy declared, holding her up like a little person.

"Can I have yours, mom?" she asked Carolyn. "Then mine will have a friend."

"I want a friend too," Jonathan broke in. "Grandma, can I have yours?"

"These are dirty. You can have the ones from the other ice creams to take home," their grandmother said. "They're creative, like Robert."

Carolyn nodded. She didn't object or point out that she was creative too. It wasn't the time or place.

"Candace looks so much like her father, don't you think?" said the elder Mrs. Muir to the younger while they cleaned up after dinner.

"Yes, she favors Robert," Carolyn agreed. Jonathan looked much like Carolyn's brother Castle had when he was young.

"And they are both musical. Candy is old enough to start piano lessons." Marjorie noted.

"She's learning to read music at school, and our housekeeper, Martha, has taught her how to place her fingers on the keys. She's off to a good start," Carolyn said brightly. She didn't want to think about lessons for anything. She didn't want to think about one more commitment to add to the schedule.

"You're doing a good job with them. They're bright and interested in so many things," came a rare compliment.

"Thank you." Carolyn didn't bother to admit that was mostly her parents' doing. Not that the children weren't bright before, but they hadn't had as many outlets as they had lately.

"And they enjoy going to church. That's nice," Marjorie went on.

Carolyn almost shared that Candy had a crush on a boy there, but then thought the better of it. If her mother-in-law brought it up, Candy would never forgive her for betraying her confidence.

She felt awkward; she hated that the only thing she and her mother-in-law had in common was the loss of Robert and admiration for his children. Marjorie Muir never noticed that the kids took after Carolyn in any way.

The evening was pleasantly spent. Grandma Muir pulled out an ancient VHS tape of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" for the kids to watch and then they added baby Jesus to their grandmother's nativity scene. They were acting as if it was Christmas eve tonight, and in the morning they would exchange presents.

Carolyn went to bed at the same time as the kids. She felt a little guilty for sneaking off, but she hadn't wanted to spend time alone with Robert's mother. She didn't want to be questioned about her plans for the future or to guess what amount of mourning she should express so as not to offend the grieving woman.

She didn't want to appear too happy, too sad, or too confused about her future. It was easier if they all focused on Christmas and enjoyed each other on that level. Anything more than that felt like quicksand.

Her mother-in-law didn't have wifi. She did have an unusual number of photos of Robert displayed around the house–more than Carolyn remembered. There was a line of the childrens' most recent school photos hanging in the hall. The only photos that included Carolyn were her and Robert's wedding photo and the family Christmas photo cards that were stuck to Grandma Muir's refrigerator with magnets.

Robert's grade school photos were peppered around the house. Carolyn was unfamiliar with most of them. It was interesting to see how startlingly Candy resembled her father when he was in elementary school. Except for the clothing and photo quality, they were nearly interchangeable. Carolyn hadn't realized that Robert had ever had so many freckles.

Carolyn's body was tired, but her mind was wide awake. The bed she was sleeping in must have had Robert's old mattress from when he was in elementary school. She could feel the supporting slats under the thin padding, and it squeaked like it was in pain with her every movement.

Here she had been imagining the kids living large all these months when the reality of couch surfing, as the pastor had called it, wasn't nearly as glamorous. You ate what you were served, slept wherever they could fit you in, watched what they put on the tv, and went to bed when they did. Nothing around you was really yours, and the other people's homes smelled funny and had strange noises.

Her mind drifted to Gull Cottage; she tried to recall its aroma–salt air, musty carpet, smoke, coffee, lamp oil, and old books. She recalled the sounds of gulls on the beach below, branches beating against the windows, the questionable plumbing, and the Captain's rich, deep voice.

She chased that idea out of her head. She was in Robert's old home now; she tried to recall his voice, but it came out sounding like Candy's voice. Carolyn could recall Robert's chuckle, and the sounds he made when they made love, but the only male voice that rang clear in her head was the one she had most likely imagined.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't mean anything," she told herself. It wasn't a contest. She was tired. That was the extent of it.

She sat on the bed and winced. The springs sounded as if they were in pain. How could she sleep with that noise? She opened her phone and searched for music to drown out the squeal of the springs. Somehow, she ended up with sea shanties; the men singing them had a hint of a brogue. Her mind dubbed in the sounds of the sea breeze and the cry of gulls. She opened the window half an inch for fresh air and fell asleep.

In the morning, Robert's mother seemed tired. She watched the children open their gifts with a faraway look in her eyes, as if she wasn't seeing Candy and Jonathan, but instead was watching Robert when he was young.

She didn't have a gift for Carolyn. She minimized the moment with an awkward remark. "I figured you don't need anything. You have the insurance money." She sounded sad and distracted when she spoke, not mean or resentful.

"I have everything I need right here!" Carolyn gave the kids a hug and exonerated the woman. She refrained from mentioning that half of Robert's insurance money had gone to his mother as well.

The children emptied their stockings, amused with the old-fashioned toys, and from the looks of some of them were actual old toys. There were pickup sticks, jacks, yoyos, a wooden acrobat, an old baseball, and some small metal cars and trucks with most of the paint chipped off for Jonathan.

Carolyn wasn't sure if they had been Robert's or if her mother-in-law had bought them at a thrift store because they reminded her of Robert. The woman offered no explanation.

She had given Candy a porcelain doll, dressed in lots of petticoats and lace, that had dust in its hair and creases as if it had sat on a shelf for a long time. Candy had little use for dolls, but she thanked Grandma Marjorie politely and looked enviously at Jonathan's baseball mitt.

After the gifts were exchanged and the living room tidied, they had a breakfast of toasted waffles and microwaved bacon. Carolyn fixed herself and Marjorie cups of instant coffee with powdered creamer. She wondered what the woman had done with the insurance money. She wasn't using it on groceries or gifts. The house hadn't changed at all save for the extra photos of Robert, and her same old car was in the driveway.

"It doesn't seem right, Robert not here," the woman said, stirring her coffee, over and over. It made Carolyn wonder if maybe that was the issue. Maybe spending the money that had come as the result of Robert's death didn't feel right. The woman had gone on a cruise, but she had said at the time that she had purchased the tickets with her sister months before.

Maybe the insurance money felt like blood money. It might well feel disrespectful to feather her nest or brighten her life with the ill-gotten gains of so sad a loss.

While Carolyn cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Candy came to her and whispered, "Can we go home?" Jonathan was in the other room chattering to his grandmother about the cars from his stocking.

"In a little while, why don't you spend some time with your grandmother? It might be a long time until we see her again."

Candy looked into her mother's eyes but didn't contradict her; she just stared hard, holding back whatever she wanted to say. Then she turned and obeyed what her mother said.

Carolyn sighed; she knew she couldn't fix this. If Candy didn't enjoy her grandmother, there wasn't much Carolyn could do, other than encouraging the girl to remain polite.

An hour later, in the car headed home, Jonathan pulled something out of his coat pocket and held it up with glee. "Look! Grandma gave me daddy's old pocket knife from when he was a cub scout."

Carolyn's mouth dropped. Not that she didn't want Jonathan to have something special from his father, but he was only 5 years old!

Candy looked at the knife and burst into angry tears. "I don't want this stupid old doll in her ugly clothes." She tossed it aside and the doll's head hit the frame of her brother's car seat, breaking in two.

"Awww…Candy…" Jonathan drawled.

But Candy didn't care, she bawled loudly and kicked her feet against the back of the seat in front of her. "I hate that doll. I hate coming here. I want a pocket knife." Her voice grew shrill.

"Jonathan, Candy, neither of you is old enough to be using a pocket knife, but I think that in a few years, it would be wonderful if you both shared it. For now, hand it here." Carolyn reached towards the back as best she could.

She felt something cold and smooth drop into her hand. She knew it was going to be a long ride home.

XXX

"Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas!" Jonathan clambered onto his mother's bed.

"Yeah Carrie, it's time to get up!" came an adult male voice. "We can sneak downstairs and look at our stockings before mom and dad are up."

Carolyn smiled and pulled the blanket over her head.

"Oh no you don't." Her brother Castle pulled the blanket off of her. "Last one down is a rotten egg! Come on Jonathan!" They ran off in a loud pounding of feet.

Carolyn sat up. How many Christmases had her brother woken her up that exact same way? And when was the last time anyone had called her "Carrie?" Not since the previous Christmas when she had last seen him.

She pulled on a robe, fished her slippers out from under the bed, and ran a hand through her hair. She heard several voices and then the cry of a baby—her brother's son, Henry, just 4 months old.

It sounded like she was going to be the rotten egg. Surprised at how that threat still bothered her; she hurried down the stairs. Her sister-in-law Lynn wasn't yet down with the baby, but Castle, the children, and Grandpa were in the living room with the tree lit.

"Look at all the women, still in bed, slowpokes!" Castle teased.

"Look at the stockings!" Jonathan marveled at how stuffed they were.

"Do we have to wait for Grandma and Aunt Lynn?" Candy pleaded.

"You two can wait, after all, this is your second Christmas this week." Carolyn reminded them.

"Wait a minute, you mean Santa Claus came to your other grandma's too?" Castle demanded in mock dismay. "That's not fair. It's unconstitutional! I demand a recount!"

"Maybe Santa's being extra nice to us because daddy died," Jonathan said with the innocent wisdom of childhood.

"I think that's exactly right." Grandpa gave the boy a hug. "There's nothing wrong with a little extra something after such a loss."

"Why do people say Daddy got lost?" Jonathan looked at his mother. "Lots of people say sorry for your lost."

"It's just another way of saying he…he died," she explained. "You know, there are usually a lot of ways to say the same thing."

"Like fart, for instance." Uncle Castle lifted a finger skyward. "You can say passed gas, cut the cheese, pooted, blew a stinker—"

"Uncle Castle!" Candy burst into hysterical giggles.

"Laid a rotten egg, did a bottom burp," he went on.

"Let one rip," their grandfather suggested.

"Flipped a windy," Candy added to the list.

Carolyn wasn't sure if she should thank her brother for defusing a delicate topic on Christmas morning or kill him for adding so many colorful terms to the children's vocabulary.

"How about I make cocoa for everyone?" Carolyn attempted to change the subject.

"That's a new one, but I can see how it works, cocoa being hot and brown and all." Castle nodded his approval.

"Ewww." Candy wrinkled her nose. "Hot and brown, yuck!"

"Oh, I give up. I'm going back to bed." She threw her hands in the air and made a dramatic turn.

"No, Mommy, don't go to bed. I want some cocoa." Jonathan tugged on the sleeve of her robe.

"Me too. Would you help me make some? You can do the measuring!" Carolyn offered.

He took her hand and they walked to the kitchen.

For a few minutes, they worked quietly, gathering materials and setting out mugs. Finally, Carolyn spoke. "You know Jonathan, it's ok to talk about Daddy dying. Some people don't like that word, that's why they say things like lost or passed away."

"Or went to heaven," he added.

"Some people are afraid of the words like die or death, and using another word helps them not feel so afraid."

He nodded and searched the cupboard for a pot.

"Is Uncle Castle scared of that word?" he asked.

"I don't think so. I think he just thought that since it's Christmas morning, people would rather laugh. He likes to make people laugh." She pointed out.

"Grandma Muir cried a little bit yesterday," Jonathan recalled. "She said Daddy is gone. But you told us that Daddy isn't really gone, that he can still watch over us."

"I believe he can, but he isn't here the way he used to be. That's what she meant when she said gone," Carolyn explained. "Would you hold the measuring cup while I pour the milk?"

He grinned and held out the cup. "You aren't scared of the word dead, are you?"

"I'm not afraid of the word, but sometimes it does feel too…final," she admitted. "Sometimes I like to think more about things like Daddy going to heaven, or passing over into a new place."

"What happened to Daddy's Christmas stocking?"

Carolyn poured milk into the pan and handed the cup back to Jonathan for another round. "It's in a box with our family Christmas decorations."

"You took our stockings out. Why didn't you take out Daddy's?"

"I was afraid that seeing his empty stocking hanging there might make us feel empty inside."

"But Santa brings presents to the people in heaven right? Because the people in heaven are good."

"I never thought about it, but you're right. He must bring them presents."

"Cause Jesus is in heaven and it's his birthday, so I bet they have a big celebration and everyone gets presents." Jonathan reasoned as he dipped a measuring cup into the canister of sugar.

Carolyn smiled. Whenever she was anxious about having a serious conversation with him, he surprised her. His bright, creative, and gentle mind always came up with a fresh perspective.

"Mommy? Can we make some cocoa for Daddy too? Just in case he's hanging around?"

"That's a splendid idea." She hugged him. "And let's put a candy cane in it. That's how he used to like his." She swallowed down a lump when she realized how easily she had spoken of him in the past tense.

Jonathan ran to the tree, grabbed a candy cane, and was unwrapping it as he returned to the kitchen. Carolyn was stirring the pot of cocoa, a tear in her eye. She wasn't sad exactly, but she knew that once Christmas was over, she needed to address the issue of where they were going to live. Each major decision took her one step farther away from her life with Robert.

She was ashamed of herself for not responding to Claymore Gregg. Several times she'd begun an email only to delete it. The time for procrastination was over. However outlandish the idea of returning to Gull Cottage was, he deserved a reply. Besides, Claymore managed other real estate in Schooner Bay. It wasn't as if Gull Cottage was the only option in town, though deep inside, she felt like it was.

"Let's fill the mugs over the sink, just in case I spill," she told her son.

They created a production line. He handed her a mug. She filled it. He wiped any drips with a paper towel and put the mug on the tray. She hadn't made the cocoa very hot, and she didn't fill the mugs all the way to the top.

Finally, Jonathan added a candy cane to Daddy's mug and sprinkled mini marshmallows into the others.

Because it was Christmas, Carolyn took a can of whipped cream from the fridge and gave every mug a fluff on top.

"Bounce the biscuit? Uncle Castle, you're so silly." Candy was grinning up at her uncle with frank admiration when they returned to the living room with their tray of drinks.

"Don't tell me you are still talking about—" Carolyn didn't want to say the word.

"No. We are done. D-O-N-E. Done," Castle said, shooting Candy a hard stare.

"Yup, we're ready for cocoa and stockings!" Candy agreed with a decisive nod.

Lynn, and Grandma, carrying baby Henry dressed in an elf suit, were coming down the stairs.

"Cocoa!" Emily Williams exclaimed. "Now isn't that perfect?!"

Taking in the scene, Carolyn agreed 100%.

XXX

"So Carrie, how are you really doing?" Castle pressed many hours later after the exhausted children had been carried to bed.

"I must be ok. You know how they say you can tell when a sick person is doing better because they start complaining?" she said with a smirk, confident that their parents were out of earshot.

"I haven't heard you complain at all."

"Well, I'm not going to be a grumpy Gus on Christmas, am I? Or say anything in front of mom and dad. They have been beyond generous."

"Too generous?" He guessed from her expression.

"It's time for us to have our own place." Carolyn put it succinctly and diplomatically.

He nodded. "I get the feeling that Lynn has had her fill of mom. You know how mom doesn't criticize, but she keeps making helpful suggestions?"

"Yes, I noticed. I'm pretty sure Lynn's bottom lip is nearly bitten through from trying to hold her tongue," Carolyn commiserated.

"Mom didn't use to be that way. But ever since the baby…and like you said, they are so generous. They gave us two thousand dollars to decorate the nursery, and then another thousand when Henry was born to buy…whatever. And we appreciate it, but it comes with so much…helpful advice."

"I will never, even if I become a millionaire, be able to outdo this Christmas," Carolyn confided. "The last month has been nonstop. The zoo, the ballet, hockey games, ice skating, snow tubing, two different visits to Santa, the German market." She ticked the events off on her fingers.

"That's more than they did with us during our entire childhood." Castle chuckled. He was exaggerating but only a little.

"Now they have time and money on their hands."

"And grandparent fever." Castle lifted his bottle of beer up in salute.

"So, how far do you have to go to get some peace? One town over? One state? Another country?" he asked.

"Well, I was thinking about a solid day's drive. Close enough to visit, but not every weekend," Carolyn said with a smile. "Maine, actually."

Castle's forehead creased in concerned surprise. "Maine? Why? Sudden craving for seafood?"

She shrugged but answered at the same time. "Well, I spent some time there a few months back, and I think I may be ready for small-town life. It's just a hop away from Boston. It's not like I'd be moving the kids to a shack in the woods." She was needlessly defensive.

"I've never been to Maine. I hear it's got a lot of coastline, would be a fun place to visit in the summer." He gave it a stamp of approval.

"I feel like…like it would give the kids a chance to be kids. Play outside, get dirty. Do more than just lessons and sports." She was finally speaking her mind.

"Yeah, I get that, but what about you? What are you going to do out there? Fish for lobsters?" He pointed the neck of his beer bottle at her.

She drew her legs up close and bit her bottom lip. "I'm not sure exactly. I've been getting back into writing. And I can write anywhere so why not the beach?" she said with a shrug, hoping she sounded nonchalant.

"You sure you didn't meet someone special when you were out there?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I made a friend. The woman who runs the Bed and breakfast, and the town librarian, she was extremely helpful with research." Carolyn glanced away.

"And?" he encouraged her.

"Nothing. No one else. I mean, not really. I met people. They were nice." She picked at a thread on her sock.

"No one of the male persuasion?"

"Castle, it's not even been a year," she reminded him.

"Sometimes life happens faster than other times," he said sagely. "And I don't think there would be anything wrong if you had met someone who made you feel a certain way."

"Well, there was a man there who used to be a Captain, and he did give me some ideas for a story, and let me borrow a book. I mean, it's just a friendship, but I have to give him some credit for getting me writing again."

Her brother nodded knowingly.

Carolyn's face grew hot. Her brother would have her sent to the looney bin if he knew this former sea captain was also a ghost, but there was no reason to mention that. It had no bearing on the discussion.

"Carrie, Robert was a great guy, but I gotta be honest. I was a little surprised. OK, a lot surprised that you settled–"

"I did not settle for Robert! I loved Robert, and he loved me. We were happy." She sputtered.

"You didn't let me finish. Not settled for Robert, but for that way of life. There's nothing wrong with focusing on the kids, but you gave up your zing. You moved where his job took you, you lived in his style of house, and hung out with his people. When you were in high school and college you were all over the place, meeting people and shaking things up," he reminded her.

He wasn't entirely wrong.

"It felt good to be writing again. And meeting people on my own terms." She smiled at the memory.

"And it'll be good for the kids to meet people on their own terms. Not be Em and Brad Williams' grandkids, or Robert Muir and Associates mini me's."

"I think you're exaggerating a bit." She leveled at him.

"But not entirely," he countered.

She nodded. "And it turns out Martha—you remember our housekeeper—is looking for a live-in position, and the place I rented there had lots of room. The kids adore her."

"And it sure doesn't hurt to have an extra hand around to help with the kids." It had taken little time as a father for Castle to appreciate that fact.

"It could be a good jumping-off point for all of us." Carolyn reached for her now cooling herbal tea and took several swallows. "So you don't think it's a kooky idea?"

"I think it's important not to get stuck in someone else's rut." He tipped the bottle and took the last swallow of beer. "You're not planning on buying the place, are you? I mean it doesn't hurt to try."

"No, I'd be renting. And it's right on the beach. Well, almost. The beach is down the cliff. The house has such a view." She recalled. She also recalled the steep broken-down road, but she had an SUV, they could manage.

"What kid is going to hate living on the beach?" Castle looked at her as if she was mad for not having already moved them out there.

"That's just what the pastor said," Carolyn said with a smile, sipping more of the tea.

"Well, there you go. Mom and Dad are crazy about pastor Ruth, always singing her praises. If she gives it her stamp of approval, Mom won't dare try to talk you out of it."

"That's the thing, though, Mom doesn't talk, she just acts. She has the kids signed up for so many activities, thinking I wouldn't dare take them away from all that opportunity." Carolyn repeated her mother's words.

"You notice that we grew up 1700 miles away from her parents," Castle reminded her.

And as quickly as that, Carolyn felt her misgivings dissolve. She had every right to move the kids wherever she felt best for them. Her parents had time and money and could visit whenever they cared to. If any of her friends told her they had an opportunity to live in a big old house on a quiet beach, she'd support them 100%.

"What if I can't make it as a writer?" That was a sticking point.

"Get a job as a cashier at the grocery store." Her brother gave a careless shrug. "People must do something out there to make money. You're smart and resourceful." It was clear from his tone that he had total confidence that she could work it all out.

"Enough about me." Carolyn put down her mug. "I want to hear all about how you're taking to fatherhood."

"That's going to take another beer," Castle admitted.

She nodded in understanding. She was not only happy for her brother she was excited to be sharing the experience of parenthood with him. They'd been close as children and ever since high school their paths had been leading them in different directions: sometimes closer, sometimes further apart.

She had sensed her sister-in-law Lynn pulling back a bit after Robert died. Carolyn knew it wasn't out of lack of love or care, but because the idea of losing a spouse felt terrifying, especially when Lynn was pregnant. Death wasn't catchy, but some people felt the need to distance themselves as if that would prevent it from happening to them.

Carolyn tried not to hold it against them, after all, she hadn't known how to respond to Robert's death either.

Castle returned with a beer for himself, a plate of cookies, and the family's old backgammon board. Their backgammon tournaments were another family tradition.

"Do you think we should?" She asked her brother. "Lynn might not want you down here with me half the night."

"She'd sound asleep, I checked." He grinned. "Let the games begin!"

XXX

On New Year's Eve, while her parents were out with friends, and Martha and the kids were watching television in the living room, Carolyn sat at the dining table with her laptop.

"Dear Mr. Gregg,

I've given your proposition considerable thought. While I very much enjoyed my stay at Gull Cottage, there were several concerns of both comfort and safety that would need to be addressed if I were to live there full time.

The children would attend school in town and the road is in terrible condition and it would be dangerous to travel particularly in bad weather. The plumbing is unreliable, and there was rot on the back porch, just to point out a few items.

Then there is the question of rent. You didn't mention an amount. There are also certain other issues about the cottage and its history that need to be taken into consideration. I would not care to feel like an unwanted or unwelcome visitor in my home."

She reread that last sentence. If indeed there was a ghost at the cottage, Claymore would understand what she was referring to. While he could be quite the pushy sales agent and she knew how much he wanted a tenant at the cottage, she believed that he would not have her and her children move into the cottage if he knew Captain Gregg opposed the idea and would cause them any trouble.

"Let's talk and see if we can work something out that will benefit all of us, and the cottage as well. I would be proud to be part of a plan to save and restore a venerable piece of history."

That sounded about right. The letter showed backbone and business acuity. Carolyn had no intention of letting someone like Claymore get the better of her. She imagined Claymore trying to work his mojo on Martha and broke into giggles.

Then her brows drew together as she imagined the Captain and Martha going head to head. That image was rather terrifying. Maybe it would be best if they drove there together to get acquainted with the place before she made any decisions. That would eliminate any nasty surprises.

"I guess you could call this my New Year's Resolution," she said, hitting send, and closing the computer. She grabbed a bottle of ginger ale and four champagne flutes from the kitchen cabinet and joined the happy party in the living room.

XXX